Archive for August, 2008

Well, as I expected, the possum was a goner. It did survive until the next morning, when it was seen by wildlife specialists at an animal hospital; they euthanized it. The resources required to save that animal would have been enormous and I didn’t expect anything else. I just wish that I could have done it so the poor thing didn’t have to suffer through the night. As P.F. pointed out, had the animal been on its own, assuming it didn’t get splattered by another car, it may have survived for days, dying slowly of thirst, hunger and maggots (which quickly infect open sores in wild animals). So suffering was abated, but not as much as I’d like. I don’t know a lot about possum reproduction, and I can only hope that at this time of year no young were dependent upon this animal (it was a female). If there are such young, they may starve to death too. But that is the way of things – it goes on all the time, and most of us just don’t witness it.

Tonight I was forced to decide what kind of person to be. As such things often go, there was no warning. It was well after dark, and the final half mile of my 23-mile commute rolled through the middle of my vision, the dotted white line clocking my progress with old-leather familiarity. Virtually home already, I imagined hugging the cat and playing with the dog. My thoughts turned to what I’d eat and how I’d spend my evening – a lovely summer night. As I considered that it would be a great night to sleep with the windows open, my headlights illuminated a bloody, shattered animal. It stood frozen in the middle of the road, face smashed into a grotesque parody – jaw broken, tongue hanging obscenely in a position that no tongue should ever reach. Surrounding it was a slick glare of fresh blood, which also covered the front of the creature in a horrific red bib. It had the same effect on me that seeing a monster would have. I barely avoided it, then shuddered uncontrollably with revulsion and disgust. Like a beheaded chicken I continued to roll on for a couple of hundred yards, struggling to control my emotions. Immediately I knew two things:

That face would haunt me in nightmares

I would have to go back and do something.

Immediately my mind began a frantic search for any slim moral pathway that could justify avoiding having to go back and see that thing.

It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t hit it, it was probably dead already, I couldn’t do anything about it even if it was alive. Yeah. Right. But what if it was alive? Could I go home as if nothing had happened without being haunted by that god-forsaken creature? I didn’t know how anything could look like that and be alive, but I also knew that it had been standing upright. Something had to be done, or I would stand trial in my own personal court and know shame.

She’s now about 5 pounds. Soon, she won’t fit into this basket any more – at least, not as perfectly as she does now: she’s like a rising loaf of bread in a pan. Her savage nature has been improving a bit, but she’s still a “special needs” cat. She is quite affectionate in her own way – she is always near us, licks us, and frequently purrs just seeing us after an absence. But the whole petting/touching/being held thing is not tolerable. When it looks like she’s in a good mood, I grab her, and then put her down before she goes ballistic – an interval of maybe 5 seconds. She does have the rather startling good manners to rarely use her claws; even when pretty angry they don’t come out. But if the biting gets too serious, or the claws are used – then, the canned air comes out. She hates that, and it works very well at modifying her behavior. I must admit to a certain smug satisfaction when the little creature sinks her fangs into me and then, with the proper application of canned air, gets the shock of her life! This makes the act of petting the cat something akin to armed rape. Fortunately, I rarely have to squirt the can any more; just the sight, or even the sound of the can being handled is enough to make her think twice.

I’m sure the average woman would like to avoid having an affair with a married man. Failing that, she’d like to avoid being caught. Failing that, she’d like to avoid having that married man be famous enough to garner the interest of the national press. Failing that, she’d like to avoid having her picture splattered all over the front page of every news service. But – if all else fails, and all of these things happen, she’d definitely, absolutely, not want this to be the picture.

Do you realize the date today is 8/8/08? Write it backwards: 8088! Whoo-hoo! The true geeks amongst you will understand the meaning, the magnitude of this auspiscious date. It’s time to celebrate baby – at the rate of 4.77 MHz!

Ok, just for fun, anyone who understands this, try an experiment: go home and explain it to your technologically uninitiated significant other/familty member/friend. Tell me how this works out for you.